I’ve been invited to help on a new project with the Norfolk Wildlife Trust which involves me creating four seasonal soundscapes.
For this first one, Spring, I wanted to get a backdrop of some early morning birdsong in a sunlit bluebell woodland. Sadly the weather Gods had other ideas and I spent a Saturday morning in Foxley Wood in Norfolk slowly being sucked into the rain sodden ground.
I will return when the weather promises to be a little more forgiving, but I thought I’d share my damp, nay sodden, visit with you. Please excuse all the crackles and thuds, it’s rain not static interference!
I also took some photographs to accompany the audio recording.
Lichen on a fallen tree
Very muddy puddles
Curse you rain!
Can you see the microphone?
The sound of decay
This year’s World Listening Day theme is inspired by a quote from Pauline Oliveros, the American composer and a central figure in the development of experimental and post-war electronic art music, who died last year.
Sometimes we walk on the ground, sometimes on sidewalks or asphalt, or other surfaces. Can we find ground to walk on and can we listen for the sound or sounds of ground? Are we losing ground? Can we find new ground by listening for it?—Pauline Oliveros (1932-2016)
Listening To The Ground
For this year’s World Listening Day I plan to put together three recordings from Norfolk recorded on July 18th. Sand dunes, a forest floor and a busy street.
I haven’t yet decided if the final piece will be three separate tracks or if I will remix them to form a fourth piece of sound art. It very much depends on what I manage to record and if the sounds work well together. (more…)
Thirty days, thirty 30-second sound bites.
Only fitting that the last recording for 30 Days Wild should be The Marriott’s Way, that has featured so much in the past month. I think all the birds came out to sing.
The penultimate day and the Song Thrush is still at it.
Haiku for Day 28
I decided to walk home in the rain. I got drenched. Best 30 Days Wild day ever.
A solo performance from a chaffinch.
Standing under a bridge as the Bure Valley Railway passes over head.